


Daughter of the King Stag

by saintgenevieve



Series: Stag's Daughter, Wolf's Widow, Dragon's Bride [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Childbirth, F/M, Falling In Love, Fights, Prophecy, Seeing the future, Sex, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-09 15:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintgenevieve/pseuds/saintgenevieve
Summary: Cassana Baratheon, only true-born child of King Robert Baratheon, was not the daughter her mother had wanted. With her dark hair and her wild ways, Cassana was hard for Cersei to control—and even harder for Cersei to love. So Cassana was sent north, to be fostered by Ned Stark, and there she stayed until her father came to make Ned his Hand.Part one of a story about a woman who changed the face of Westeros.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a story I've wanted to write for a really long time. There are gonna be four parts. It centers around my OC Cassana Baratheon.

_The young woman moved with a quiet grace, navigating the godswood of Winterfell easily in the darkness. Her dark hair rippled down her back, over the fine fur of her cloak and down to her waist. She was dressed for riding; she was running away._

_Beneath the Weirwood tree, a young man with silver hair waited with a lantern. He was almost painfully handsome and when he saw the woman he smiled brighter than the sun. She threw her arms around him and kissed him sweetly. They said their vows softly, the tree their only witness, and then melted away into the darkness._

I gasped, sitting straight up in bed, shivering so hard even the bed shook. The world tipped and spun, and for a moment I thought I might vomit, but the nausea passed and the room steadied. The fire in my hearth had gone out sometime in the night, which explained why I could see each panting breath fog the air before my nose.

With a heavy sigh, I wrapped myself in one of my fur blankets and slipped out of my frigid room. The hall was even colder, and by the time I made it to Arya’s chamber, my toes felt like ice. I didn’t bother to knock, just slipped inside, and made my way over to the bed. Her fire still burned and the room was blessedly warm.

Arya’s dark head arose from the shelter of the blankets and she blinked blearily at me. “Cassana?”

“I’m sorry, Arya. My fire went out and I had a…strange dream. Do you mind—“

Before I could finish my question, the girl nodded and flipped back the covers. I slid beneath the blankets, almost groaning in relief. Arya snuggled close to me, her skinny arms folding around me with an easy affection. It made me ache for my little sister, who I hadn’t seen in almost three years. Myrcella would be a little older than Arya by now, and growing lovelier every day. I knew she’d be the most beautiful girl in the Seven Kingdoms one day.

I lay quietly with Arya, listening to the sound of her breathing, but I couldn’t fall back asleep. All I could think of was the beautiful girl from my dream. She’d had the Stark look—dark hair and grey eyes—and she’d been sneaking through the Godswood. I wondered who she was, and what was so important about her that I’d seen her in my dreams.

After a long time, sunlight began to steal through the window. One of the servants would be along to wake us soon. I knew I should go back to my room, but I didn’t want to brave the cold halls yet. And Arya didn’t mind when I came to her room in the middle of the night. I had disturbing dreams often enough that she’d grown used to it.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Arya complained with a yawn.

“I’m sorry,” I said, stroking her hair. It always surprised me how soft it was, considering the girl it belonged to.

The girl in question sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “Was your dream a nightmare?”

I shook my head. “No. It just…bothered me. I’m not sure why or what it even means.” I shivered. “Something’s coming, Arya. The world is about to change.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to endure the sewing lesson today?”

I laughed. “What would your lady mother say?”

Arya grumbled something decidedly unladylike and I forgot all my fears. Whatever was coming could wait a little longer.

 

Robb’s eyes were almost unbearably blue as he smiled at me from across the table. We’d been flirting for months now, though no one had noticed. I liked it when he smiled at me; it made me feel as beautiful as everyone said my mother was.

Theon Greyjoy was prattling aimlessly in Robb’s ear, bragging about some wench he’d bedded or something else as inane, but the eldest Stark boy wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he raised his eyebrows at me and took a drink from his cup. I demurred, looking down at my plate and fluttering my eyelashes.

“So, what are you young men doing today?” I asked, spreading butter onto a piece of bread.

“Bran’s learning to shoot again today,” Robb answered.

“Has he shown any promise?”

He grinned. “Not too much. But he’s young yet. He’ll be a great warrior someday.”

“Not all boys have to grow up to be warriors,” I pointed out.

Robb shrugged. “He’s a Stark. He’ll do what Father thinks is best.”

“And you will be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North one day?”

“Indeed, I will.”

“And who will be your lady?”

He flushed at the frankness of my question and the directness of my gaze.

 

Even in summer—this one had lasted almost nine years—Winterfell wasn’t warm. It snowed sometimes, though not as often as it did in winter, and the godswood had little clumps of snow in the shade of the trees. The wind whispered through the leaves, but the surface of the pool beneath the Weirwood tree was still. The tree’s carved face was reflected in it, silent and solemn, keeping vigil as it had for hundreds of years.

I knelt before the great tree, between it’s pale, spreading roots. I had always liked this place, where the Old Gods were strongest. I pressed a hand to the cool bark, white as the snow, just beneath its face, blood-red sap running in frozen rivulets from its eyes like tears. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

“What are you trying to tell me? What do you want me to see?” I asked softly.

_A girl with wide eyes and moon-pale hair stood before a dark man on a horse. Her exquisite face was full of something akin to fear. Behind her a pale, thin man stared at her, eyes avid and greedy. He wanted something, wanted it more than anything. And he’d sacrifice the girl if it meant he got it._

_The man on the horse galloped off, after looking his fill at the beautiful girl. She stared almost blankly after him, caught between relief and distress. She seemed very small, and yet there was a light inside her. She burned like an open flame, bright in the darkness of the world._

I came back to myself, warmer than I’d been before. The girl was important, I knew it in my bones. Why would I have seen her if she wasn’t? But who was she and what part would she play in the conflicts to come?

With a sigh, I rose to my feet and began to make my way back to the keep. After a night of restless sleep, I was exhausted, but I still had duties. As a princess, certain things were expected of me. I was supposed to act a certain way; I probably wasn’t supposed to dawdle in the godswood, trying to commune with the Old Gods.

I pulled my cloak more firmly around me and wished suddenly for my Uncle Jamie and my Uncle Tyrion. Not my father, and never my mother, but I liked my uncles and missed them fiercely. I adored Lady Stark, for she was kinder and more loving than my mother was capable of being, and admired Lord Stark for his steady strength and calm wisdom. And I was quite close to all the Stark children, including Jon Snow—who I cared for despite his low status—but I missed my own siblings.

Of course, I despised Joffery, little monster that he was, but Myrcella and Tommen were dear to me and I hadn’t seen them in so long. I wrote to them, and they to me, but it wasn’t the same. I hoped I would see them soon, though I had no particular desire to return to King’s Landing. The city reeked of piss and rot, especially in the summer. Not to mention that it was ridiculously hot and princesses were not allowed to swim in the river like peasants—or so my mother had snarled once or twice.

I was somewhat relieved that she had never written to me. My father did, sometimes, but I was his favorite. I was not Cersei Lannister’s. My sister and brothers, she coddled, but she had never been particularly interested in my upbringing—except to criticize and point out my many flaws. No wonder I preferred Lady Stark.


	2. Winter is Coming, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ned has already written to your father to inquire about the match. I cannot imagine anyone I’d rather have take my place as the Lady of Winterfell.”

The men rode out, Lord Stark at the head of the procession, his three eldest sons trailing behind—Jon and Robb with serious eyes and Bran on his pony. Lady Stark stood quietly at the balcony, watching them, her long red-brown hair stirring in the cool wind. She was beautiful, I thought, though in a different way than my mother. Hers was an earthy, gentle beauty, while my mother’s was golden and untouchable.

“Good morning, Lady Stark,” I said, coming to stand beside her.

She smiled at me, blue eyes warm. “Good morning, Cassana. How are you feeling? Arya said you had another strange dream last night.”

“I’m alright; I haven’t been driven mad yet. Where did Lord Stark take the boys?”

She swallowed hard. “They found a deserter from the Night’s Watch.”

“Oh.”

 _Blue eyes, blue as frost, blue as frozen flesh, burning cold. Skin white like fresh-fallen snow and even colder. Hands raised, and the dead rising on his commands. A man in black watching, terrified, as the Night King_ —

“Cassana!”

I swayed into Lady Stark’s warm hands, feeling as though I’d dipped my hands and feet in ice-water. “I’m sorry,” I said on instinct. “I must be more exhausted than I thought. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” She took my hands in hers, and I surrendered myself to her care. “You’re cold as ice; let’s go inside and have some hot spiced wine.”

Dutifully, I followed her into the keep-proper.

She sat me down in her private solar, calling for our drinks. A servant built up the fire and Lady Stark wrapped a thick-knit shawl around my narrow shoulders. I felt very young suddenly, letting her take care of me, and loved her for it. My own mother had never treated me with such concern.

_I was sick once, when I was twelve. I had a terrible fever and Pycelle had thought I might die. Mother stayed away, but Tyrion came. He read to me, all that week, even in the dead of night. If I was awake, he was awake. And Jamie came too. He told me stories of tourneys he’d been in and the battles he’d fought. They were there when my parents weren’t. If Catlyn Stark was my mother, or if I had been in Winterfell, she would have stayed with me._

Lady Stark interrupted my thoughts by pressing a steaming cup between my hands. “Drink,” she ordered gently.

I did as she said, savoring the taste and the heat. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

We sat together quietly, the fire crackling in the hearth and filling the room with the scent of pine cones. I felt comforted, the brief vision, and the fear it had awakened, melting away like snow in spring in Lady Stark’s steady presence. I knew she was worried, after all I rarely slept all through the night—which she knew because I usually snuck into Arya or Sansa’s rooms in the middle of the night after a bad nightmare.

“Cassana, are you happy here?” she asked, concern clear in her voice.

“Of course! I love Winterfell. I don’t sleep any better in the Red Keep, in fact the nightmares are usually worse there,” I said.

And it was true. The Red Keep was haunted by the terrible things that had happened there. _I can hear phantom screams sometimes, the people the Mad King burned alive. I once dreamed of Elia Martell’s murder; I can still remember her cries of anguish as the Mountain reached for her with bloody hands. And I hear Queen Rhaella’s sobs as her brother-husband raped and abused her. I catch glimpses of Rhaegar Targaryen wandering the halls, coaxing mournful songs from his golden harp. I see so many faces, hear so many voices, I feel sometimes as though I might go mad from it. Winterfell is quieter, somehow, for all it’s older than King’s Landing. The Stark ghosts aren’t as restless, I suppose._

“Are you sure? If you want to go home, all you have to do is ask.”

“Winterfell is my home, and you are dearer to me than my own mother, Lady Stark. Please, don’t send me away.”

“I would never send you away; I love you as one of my own daughters.” She smiled knowingly at me. “Perhaps, in a year or so, you may _become_ my daughter.”

I flushed and took another gulp of wine. “So…how long have you known?”

Lady Stark laughed. “Do you remember when you first came to Winterfell? You were almost eight, I believe. You were such a lovely child, and you enchanted everyone you met. You returned to King’s Landing when you were twelve, for almost a year, and then came back here. I’d never seen Robb so despondent as when you were gone. When you returned, he asked me if he could marry you one day, so that you’d never leave Winterfell again.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Ned has already written to your father to inquire about the match. I cannot imagine anyone I’d rather have take my place as the Lady of Winterfell.”

I flushed. “I would be honored. I care…very deeply for Robb, and I believe I could grow to truly love him given time. He would make a better husband that most, I think.”

“I hope so.” I knew she was thinking of her own husband, who she loved despite his shortcomings.

 

“The King is coming to Winterfell,” Ned Stark told me, his voice solemn.

I set down my embroidery and stood. “My father? Why?”

“Jon Arryn is dead. I believe Robert is coming to ask me to be his Hand.”

“Oh. Is the whole court coming?”

He nodded and I stifled the urge to curse in an unladylike manner. _My mother is coming. At least I’ll see Tyrion and Jamie again. And Tommen and Myrcella!_

“What answer will you give my father?”

“I don’t know.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you would be a fine Hand. You’re a good man, noble and kind, and Westeros would be lucky to be placed in your capable hands. But I don’t think it would make you particularly happy,” I said.

Ned smiled at me. “You are wise beyond your years, Cassana.”

“I was raised by a very wise man,” I responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long. The chapters might take a while. I'm a kinda busy person, what with school and stuff. But I'm trying. I hope all of you are having a good month.


	3. Winter is Coming: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feast.

My father was fatter than he’d been when I’d last seen him, with threads of grey in his hair and beard. But his blue eyes—the same as mine—were still bright and merry and his cheeks were red and round as apples. My mother was cold and beautiful as always, all sharp eyes and haughty bearing as she looked me up and down.

“Cassana!” Robert boomed, sweeping me into his arms and kissing my brow. “How lovely you’ve become, daughter!”

“Hello, father,” I said with a smile.

He moved on to embrace Ned, grinning at the Starks. My mother did not embrace me, simply inclined her head and moved her gaze to Catelyn Stark.

And then two small bodies crashed into mine, both chanting my name is excitement. I laughed, throwing my arms around my siblings, trying to understand what they said as they talked over each other. Myrcella was almost at my chin; Tommen’s head came up to my ribs. They were the same as ever, sweet and golden and full of joy. Joffery did not approach me, wary, since the last time we’d been alone together I’d slapped him hard enough to leave a mark. _Little beast._

Jamie stood to the side, smiling at me, warm where my mother was always cold. How different from each other they were, Cersei and her golden twin. Tyrion was nowhere in sight. _Probably at a brothel to avoid my mother after a month spent on the road with her._ I looked forward to seeing him, my favorite of all my uncles.

Ned escorted my father away to the crypts underneath Winterfell, despite my mother’s protests. Even after seventeen years, he still loved poor, dead Lyanna Stark. _If I lose someone I love, I won’t spend the rest of my life miserable. I’ll mourn and move on. I will never be like my father. And I will be a better mother than Cersei Lannister if it’s the last thing I do._

 

The feast was loud and somewhat uncomfortable. For one thing, Catelyn had banned Jon, believing his presence might offend her guests—which was ridiculous since my father had twenty bastards at the very least. For another, my father was unabashedly flirting with a serving woman, oblivious of his wife’s disapproving gaze. And, of course, Joffery was smirking at Sansa in a way that made my skin crawl, though she didn’t seem to mind at all.

But throughout it all, Robb sat at my side, a steady, warm presence. _It wouldn’t be too bad to be his wife. He could make me happy, I know. We could have a peaceful life here in Winterfell, surrounded by curly-haired, bright-eyed children. I would rather have a quiet life than be a queen._

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself, Princess,” he said teasingly, leaning toward me.

I granted him a sidelong smile. “I’ve never been one for feasts, as you well know, my lord.”

He grinned; it was like looking into the sun. “But you must admit the company is splendid.”

“Whose company?”

“Mine.”

I giggled and took a long sip of my wine. “I suppose it could be worse,” I said, heaving a dramatic sigh.

Robb pressed his shoulder to mine and took my hand beneath the table, twining our fingers together like he’d done it a hundred times before. His hand was rougher than mine, callused from swordplay and other boyish pursuits.

“There’s an announcement coming,” he murmured, squeezing my hand.  

My heart fluttered. “Is there?”

“Wait and see.”

And soon enough my father stood from the low bench he’d been sitting on, displacing the wench who had been enthroned on his lap. He raised his cup, a bit of mead splashing out onto the floor. The hall quieted.

“Friends! I have great news to share,” my father declared, face red with too much drink. “The houses of Stark and Baratheon—which were always meant to be joined—will finally be wed. My oldest daughter will marry Ned Stark’s eldest son on the eve of her eighteenth nameday! Let us toast to their future happiness and all the grandchildren they’ll give me!”

All around the hall people raised their cups and cheered. I knew I was smiling, and Robb was too. He squeezed my hand again; our future looked bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I just wanted to update. I'm sorry it's taken so long. School's been crazy and I just started dating someone and I spent last weekend at an anime convention. I've just been swamped. But I'm doing my very best. Next chapter will be longer, I promise.


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